


I Keep Bleeding, Love

by psyraah



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 11:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6049573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psyraah/pseuds/psyraah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Lieutenants, Warrant Officer, come in,” Hawkeye says again. There’s another beat, and then both Jean and Hawkeye relax, just slightly, at the groan in their ear pieces.</p><p>“<em>Yeah, shit</em>,” Breda says. “<em>Still alive. Everyone okay?</em>”</p><p>Someone coughs. “<em>Yes, sir</em>.” Falman. Which means that there’s only—</p><p>Breda speaks again, and his words turn Jean’s blood to ice.</p><p>“<em>Shit. Fuery</em>.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Keep Bleeding, Love

Jean doesn’t know which one he hears first—the explosion, or the sound of it through his ear piece.

Either way it doesn’t matter, because it happens, and both him and Hawkeye jolt when the sound goes off, guns raised and trained on the entrance to the building below them, from which now smoke is rising in a steady plume.

“Lieutenant Breda, come in,” Hawkeye says coolly. There’s silence, and Jean’s eyes are darting around, searching for any movement below. Their team had been on their way out, they’d only needed a few seconds more—

“Lieutenants, Warrant Officer, come in,” Hawkeye says again. There’s another beat, and then both he and Hawkeye relax, just slightly, at the groan in their ear pieces.

“ _Yeah, shit,_ ” Breda says. “ _Still alive. Everyone okay?_ ”

Someone coughs. “ _Yes, sir._ ” Falman. Which means that there’s only—

Breda speaks again, and his words turn Jean’s blood to ice.

“ _Shit. Fuery._ ”

Then there’s a groan, and a sudden cry from a voice that Jean knows as well as his own, and his heart plummets.

“Warrant Officer Fuery, report,” he manages to say, voice amazingly calm. That lasts for the two heart beats in which there’s no reply, before Jean breaks. “Warrant Officer, I asked you to _report_.”

Nothing still, and Jean is trembling, because down there, _somewhere_ , is Kain, and all he has to go by is Breda’s voice, soft but urgent, in his ear.

“ _Come on, Fuery, easy now, let me_ —”

Another groan, and harsh breathing, then the miracle of hearing Kain’s voice. “ _Ah, Lieutenant B-breda, you sh-should—fuck, get, get out._ ”

“ _Fuery got hit_ ,” Breda says, ignoring him. “ _We’re coming out, cover us. Falman, you lead, I’ll take Fuery._ ”

“We’ve got you covered, Lieutenant,” says Hawkeye, and she shoots Jean a look— _hold it together_ —as she readies her gun again. “Get to the van.”

“ _Yes, sir_.”

Jean’s heart is pounding, he can _feel_ his blood thundering in his veins, every nerve stretched taut, almost to breaking when he hears Breda’s soft “ _sorry, bud,_ ” and then Kain’s cry of pain.

“ _I’ve got him, we’re coming out._ ”

Jean keeps his eye, and his gun, trained on the building below. Because that’s the job, that’s what he does, but _fuck_ if he doesn’t want to sprint down as soon as he sees two figures in blue dash out, and Breda’s stout form carrying a third. In their rush to their van around the corner, another two figures—this time in black—appear behind them, shouting, guns raised. Jean takes care of one, Hawkeye the other, watching as their group ducks around the corner.

“ _Right, we’re in the van and covered for now. Come down and let’s get outta here._ ”

“Coming,” says Hawkeye, and both she and Jean shoulder their rifles. Then they’re dashing down the flight of stairs, and Jean’s heart and mind are both scrambling because throughout it all he can hear ragged breathing, the occasional gasp of pain, and Falman and Breda’s quiet voices.

“ _That’s it, Fuery, just keep breathing. I’ve got you._ ”

” _You’re safe now, focus on my voice, you’re safe._ “

“Fuery,” Jean says, voice unsteady in a way that has nothing to do with the fact that he’s pounding along concrete as fast as he can. “You little shit, you aren’t allowed to fuckin’ die, all right?”

Forced laughter from the other two, and a gasped out reply. ” _Shit, Lieut-tenant, g-go easy on me, you ever t-tried—f-fuck, don’t think I c-can do th—ah!_ “

Jean’s heart just—stops at the sound. There’s the van, there’s Falman standing outside with his gun raised, relaxing just a fraction when he sees its Jean and Hawkeye.

Hawkeye clasps a hand on Jean’s shoulder for the briefest, comforting second, before she goes up front. "Falman, with me. Havoc get in the back." He doesn't need to be told twice, barely needs to be told once. He hardly registers Breda's grim face as he vaults into the back of the van ( _refuses_ to notice the blood on the hands that pull the door closed), and all he can see is the figure on the floor of the van, shuddering with uneven breaths.

"Fuery," he says, firm, almost harsh—keep it professional, keep it together. Warrant Officer Fuery is _duty bound_ to follow orders, that's what the hierarchy is for.

If only it were that simple.

"Lieutenant, h-hey." It’s hard to tell who the shaking is coming from—himself or Kain—when Jean gently brushes Kain’s sweat-damp hair away from his eyes. Reality is mocking him, taunting him, and Jean just—he needs to, but he doesn't _want_ to see, wants to pretend it hasn't happened.

He looks anyway.

Metal. There's metal fucking stuck in Kain's side, and the wool covering what must be a fucking hole in his side is dyed even darker by Kain's blood.

“Probably better to leave it in,” Breda mutters, fingers clenched tight around his radio. “Might stop him bleeding out.” His tongue flickers out to wet his lips, and his brows are drawn down tightly. 

Between them, Kain says something that gets lost amidst the rumbling the van. There's blood underneath Jean's hand when he rests it on the floor so he can bend down. 

"What's that?"

"Don't wanna d-die."

"You won't," Jean says immediately, because it's not  _possible_ for Kain to die. It can't happen, not while Jean's kneeling on aching knees in the back of a dark van, helpless, hopeless, listening to each ragged breath that Kain draws. 

“Don’t wanna—c-can’t, got things t’do.”

“I know, Kain, I know.” Jean grabs his hand, and Kain’s fingers squeeze weakly. “You’re not gonna die, ‘kay? You’re gonna be fine. Falman,” he calls out. “How long we got?”

A pause “Major Hawkeye estimates roughly three minutes. We’re close.”

“Fuck.” Jean turns back to Kain, whose breaths are turning more and more ragged. 

“J-jean.”

“I’m right here, Kain, I got you, just—”

"He there?"

Jean grits his teeth, knowing he can't help, hating himself more and more for it. "Kain, I'm right here, c'mon, I'm here."

“C-c-can't die, things t'do,” Kain continues, as though he hasn’t heard, as though Jean’s heart isn’t bleeding out with every drop of blood that Kain’s losing. His eyes are fluttering shut. “G-gonna m-m-marry him. I gotta. L-love him. He’s g-gotta know. Needa t-t-tell ‘im.”

There’s wetness dashing fierce agony down Jean’s cheeks, and a lump in his throat which chokes him. He clutches Kain’s hand desperately. “Then you fuckin’ go tell him yourself, you hear me? You fuckin’ tell him yourself, you little—”

Kain’s hand goes limp in his.

**Author's Note:**

> How I get through not being able to write: stab some of my favourite characters, then make the other characters sad about it.
> 
> Also, spoiler alert, he's not dead. I just got too lazy to write the comfort part of the hurt comfort.


End file.
